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“Charlie, please,” he said, “Don’t let
your dreams drift in the winds.”
Yet he found himself face-to-face
with a great wall.

“Charlie, please,” he said, “Don’t let
love draw you head-over-heels
away from contentment.”
Yet he found himself head downcast,
eyes askance of a headstone.

“Charlie, please,” he said, “Don’t let
your passion extinguish in the
tranquil, solitary night.”
Yet he found himself plucking
a tiny pebble from the dirt.

“Charlie, please,” he said, ” . . . ”
Yet let his own words fail him
and found nothing at all
at every distance
in all directions.

Voiceless, he stood, for the longest time,
then cast his fate into the winds,
the swirling lushness.

*

Copyright 2015 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.